


back on our bullshit

by ClementineKitten



Series: clem's university au [5]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, a couple of guys being dudes, and saihara is the voice of reason, i haven’t written anything in five years i know, it’s post my uni au, kind of, momota is Angr Lad, ouma is resident Worst Boy(tm), take my garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:18:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineKitten/pseuds/ClementineKitten
Summary: “Ouma, I swear to God, if you leave your socks on the counter one more time, I am going to break your tiny body in two.”“Huh? How do you know they’re mine?”“No one else in this Godless house wears weed socks, you fucking gremlin.”Ouma’s apartment is getting renovations done, and, well, he has to stay somewhere.





	back on our bullshit

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: this is still the uni au, but after they’ve graduated and live on their own. relationships in that still apply here

“Ouma, _I swear to God_ , if you leave your socks on the counter one more time, I am going to break your tiny body in two.”

“Huh? How do you know they’re mine?”

“ _No one else_ in this Godless house wears weed socks, you fucking gremlin.”

Looking strained, Momota ran his fingers through his hair, which was uncharacteristically flat and pulled into a messy ponytail. His gaze floated towards Saihara, to whom he gave an exasperated sigh. He clenched his jaw.

“ _Why_ did we let him move in with us, again?” he mumbled angrily, his eyelids drifting shut. Saihara shrugged meekly, pulling his sweater sleeves over his hands and giving Momota a slight smile.

“Because they’re doing renovations in his apartment and he can’t be in there?” Saihara offered. The eye-roll that Momota gave him suggested he wasn’t looking for a rational answer. He put his hands on his hips and looked at the ground.

“Couldn’t he just move in with Kiibo, too? They live together, so why did they split up cuz of this?” Momota exhaled deeply. “Why would he even wanna be split up from Kiibo, anyways? He’s so goddamn clingy.”

“Kaede couldn’t handle the two of them. I’m taking a bullet for her,” Saihara explained. “Besides, you couldn’t say no to me when I asked, right?” A cheeky tone slid into his voice. In spite of himself, a tiny smile quirked Momota’s lips.

“Taking on Ouma for your girlfriend is true love, bud.” Momota’s shoulders tensed as footsteps sounded in the hall leading into their kitchen, where they were standing. Ouma stepped into the room, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt, holding the aforementioned weed socks with his finger tips.

“These aren’t mine, by the way. They’re Amami-chan’s. Iruma-chan bought them for him for April Fools’.” Ouma pursed his lips, and then stuffed both socks into his pockets.

“Why do you have them, then? Enlighten us.” Momota smiled sardonically. 

“I wanted to look cool on Instagram,” Ouma mumbled, looking dejected. There was a genuine lilt in his voice, and Saihara found himself rolling his eyes internally. _Of course you did, Ouma-kun._ The purple-haired boy smiled brightly, not unlike the Cheshire Cat. “I promise that I won’t leave my socks on the counter.” He bowed deeply, so far that his unruly locks of hair brushed the kitchen floor. “Not for you Momota-chan, but because it’s bothering Saihara-chan.” He tilted his head upwards and winked at Saihara, who gave him a weary smile.

“Why you-” Momota’s eyes narrowed and Ouma hopped back up to his feet, scurrying out of the kitchen with a sharp bark of laughter. Momota tensed like he was about to chase after the boy, but Saihara rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Kaito,” Saihara said softly. Momota drew in a sharp breath, then exhaled deeply. His muscles relaxed. “You are so easily provoked,” Saihara added with a chuckle. Momota threw up his eyebrows.

“What I don’t understand,” Kaito lamented as he adjusted the collar of his shirt, “is how you’re _not provoked_.” Saihara patted his housemate on the shoulder.

“Interrogating criminals teaches patience,” Saihara sighed, his eyes flickering to the door Ouma had run out of. “It’s only for a week. You’ll survive.” Momota’s gaze dragged to the side to look at Saihara. He ran his fingers through his bangs, and as they flopped back onto his forehead he gave Saihara a smile.

“Only for you.” Momota ruffled Saihara’s hair and walked out of the kitchen, fists clenched. Saihara felt a stab of sympathy for Ouma, and held a prayer in his heart that he wouldn’t show up dead. He sighed as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed a text from Akamatsu.

[11:37 AM] Kaede ❤♫: how’s ouma-kun?  
[11:42 AM] Shuichi Saihara: two words: weed socks  
[11:42 AM] Kaede ❤♫: jesus christ  
[11:43 AM] Kaede ❤♫: kiibo-kun and I just finished washing the dishes. he’s very efficient  
[11:43 AM] Shuichi Saihara: sounds like you’re having a better time than us  
[11:43 AM] Kaede ❤♫: probably! kiibo-kun misses ouma-kun, though  
[11:44 AM] Shuichi Saihara: why don’t we release both of them into the wild for a bit? they’ve literally been separated for two days  
[11:44 AM] Kaede ❤♫: he didn’t sleep well last night, so he might not be up to it  
[11:44 AM] Shuichi Saihara: i don’t think ouma has slept once in his life. he’s always tired  
[11:45 AM] Kaede ❤♫: probably not tbh  
[11:45 AM] Kaede ❤♫: kiibo-kun’s calling me, ttyl darlin <3  
[11:45 AM] Shuichi Saihara: later, sweetheart

Saihara smiled as he looked down at his phone screen, his heart light. He pocketed the phone and walked out of the kitchen, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater. Momota wasn’t anywhere in sight as he looked around the living space- he had probably gone upstairs to give Ouma a piece of his mind.

With a sigh, Saihara relaxed into their couch, staring into the blackness of the powered-off TV monitor. He just sat like that with no stimuli for a solid minute, kind of zoned out. Ouma was one of his close friends and had been since university, so he _did_ love him, he was just completely and utterly exhausting sometimes. It was like he absorbed all of Saihara’s life force, and expelled it himself.

More than once, Saihara found himself wondering how Kiibo, who was like the polar opposite of Ouma, could spend so much time with him, or even date him. Maybe there was a secret side to him? These thoughts plagued Saihara’s overactive mind that fine Saturday afternoon.

Nonetheless, he was completely content with his relationship with Akamatsu.

After a bit, Momota made his way down the stairs, and hopped over the couch to slump into position beside Saihara- a pose they assumed often.

“So, is Ouma-kun dead or not?” Saihara asked as Momota whipped out his phone. The purple-haired man let out a snort as he flipped through text messages.

“Alive… For now.” Momota leaned back into the couch. “I was gonna ask Maki Roll if she was free, then I remembered she’s coaching at the gym right now.” He groaned exaggeratedly. 

“Ah, of course,” Saihara answered. Harukawa was a personal trainer at one of the gyms in the city. Her track record was great, and all of her clients were satisfied, but Saihara couldn’t even imagine what having her train you would be like. He had worked out with Harukawa, and she was filled with unfettered, raw strength. It was awesome, admittedly, but struck fear into the hearts of skinny, blue-haired boys like himself.

“What about my main, A-slice?” Momota asked as he rested his phone on his knee.

“Kaede?” Saihara and Momota had a lovely connection- they had been together for so long that Saihara’s brain filtered out his nicknames. “She might be, but she mentioned Kiibo-kun was feeling a bit under the weather, so she may not want to leave him alone.”

“Hm, our girlfriends are busy. It’s almost like they have lives or something.” Momota’s mouth gaped in a yawn, and he stretched his arms above his head. He relaxed far too casually into Saihara and stretched his legs over his housemate’s.

“We could go out and do something together,” Saihara suggested. Momota tilted his head to look at Saihara evenly.

“What is there for two bros to do on this lovely Saturday, Shuichi?” he inquired. To this, Saihara offered a simple shrug.

“Laser tag?” he put in. Momota chuckled.

“Now you’re speaking my language.” He sat up slightly. “Hey, can we go to laser tag with Akamatsu and Maki Roll soon? That sounds fun as hell.”

“Are you sure getting your ass handed to you by Harukawa-san won’t hurt your pride too much?” Saihara replied snarkily. Momota’s eyes widened, like he wasn’t expecting the comment, but his surprise quickly furrowed into resolve and faux-anger.

“First of all, I am _hurt,_ Shuichi!” Momota exclaimed as he held a hand to his chest. “How dare you underestimate me?!”

“I didn’t-“ Saihara’s interjection was cut off by Momota as he sat up and pulled his legs away from Saihara’s, standing up in the couch. 

“Mark my words, my dear Shuichi! I, Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, will beat my girlfriend in laser tag!” He held out his arms as he said this, like he was an opera singer, calling into an auditorium that was now empty but had once been filled with thunderous applause. After he said his piece, he plopped back down beside/on top of Saihara.

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” Saihara said with an embarrassed sigh and a chuckle. Momota crossed his arms.

“When you’re born with this much talent, you want to show it off,” he commented. “Don’t forget, I used to be a theatre kid.”

“How could I ever?” Saihara lamented. The two exchanged a laugh. “So… Wanna get coffee?”

“Sure, man.” 

-

Momota jangled his keys in his pockets. “Ready to go?”

“I think?” Saihara noted with an inquisitive tone. As he fumbled with his pockets, making sure he had his wallet, he gave his housemate a nod. “I am.”

“Hey, where are you guys going?” 

Ouma finally reappeared from upstairs, his fingers barely gripping the handrail. 

“To get coffee. Want anything?” Saihara asked. Ouma put his free hand to his chin in thought, like this was a life-altering decision.

“You’re going to go somewhere _without me_?” If Saihara didn’t know any better, he would have thought Ouma was legitimately upset.

“We’re just gonna go get something to drink and drop something off at Kaede’s house, since she has her hands full,” Saihara explained. Ouma’s eyes lit up.

“You’re gonna go visit Kiibo?” His gaze sparked, and it seemed his face brightened a whole hundred watts for a moment. Then he crossed his arms and looked away with a _humph_. “Now I’m even more offended that you’re not bringing me. You’re a terrible friend, Shuichi Saihara-chan!”

“Do you… Want to come?” Saihara questioned.

“No, no, it’s fine! You didn’t ask me in the first place, so I’m sure you don’t want me there.” Ouma spun around on his heel and began to ascend the staircase again. He turned his head to glare at the two housemates and pouted. “Jheez, you two. So unempathetic.” 

Momota looked like he was about to say something biting, but Saihara held a hand up. “And yes, I would like a caramel macchiato or something of the sort,” Ouma added, as if reluctant.

“Expensive taste,” Momota snorted, and rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, and…” Ouma was standing at the top of the staircase, looking down at the two men like he was Queen Mary looking down at a bunch of protestants. Then his expression shifted, and morphed into a small smile- one that touched his eyes. “Tell Keebs I say hi, okay?”

“Gotcha.”

-

And that’s how the pair came to stand outside of Akamatsu’s apartment on the second floor of a complex. Kiibo didn’t take up too much space, but Saihara couldn’t imagine that it was too much fun living in a small area with two people.

In one hand, the man was clutching a cardboard drink holder, with the drinks of choice for both Kiibo and Akamatsu, and with the other free hand he knocked on the door. Momota held him and Saihara’s own coffees, along with Ouma’s.

“Coming!” A voice sounded within the room. The noise of a lock clattering came through the door, and Akamatsu appeared in front of them, her hair in a messy ponytail. 

“Shuichi! Momota-kun!” Akamatsu kissed Saihara’s cheek and shot Momota a wink, which he responded to with a finger gun. She leaned against the door frame.

“Hey, Kaede,” Saihara greeted. He held out the drinks to her. “For you.”

Akamatsu took the drinks with a smile. “Thanks, love.” She turned to go back through the door, then paused for a moment. “Come in, come in.” She waved her free hand, then ducked back into her apartment.

Momota pushed Saihara forward and the two walked into the living space. “Hey, Kiibo,” Momota said to the boy, who was sprawled out on Akamatsu’s couch. He sat up.

“Oh, you’re here. Welcome.” Kiibo shot the pair a smile. Akamatsu danced over to him and handed him his drink. “Thanks!”

Akamatsu took her own and threw the empty holder onto the counter. She took a tentative sip. “Did you remember what I like, Shuichi?”

“Of course. Three creams, two sugars,” Saihara answered. Akamatsu grinned devilishly over her coffee.

“Ya got me.” She took another sip. “Still don’t know why you drink black, though.”

“It’s bitter, so it’s relatable.” Saihara offered her a shrug as he joked. She tittered slightly and she walked over to the couch, pushed Kiibo’s legs to the side, and sat down.

“So what’s the dealio? Is coming over here your reprieve from Ouma-kun?” she asked. 

“He is insufferable,” Momota said. Kiibo frowned. “No offense, Keebs, but full offense to your boyfriend.”

Kiibo shuffled his drink in his hands. “Well, he can be eccentric… But so are you, Momota-kun.” He sipped his drink as he spoke.

“...Should I be offended?” Momota’s eyebrows knit. Akamatsu chuckled as he crossed her legs in front of her. 

“Come on, M-dog. You know you love Ouma-kun, as much as you insult him,” Akamatsu said with a wide grin. Momota crossed his arms.

“Oh, _hell no,_ ” he objected. With a slight smile on his pale face, Saihara grabbed Momota’s shoulder and rocked him back and forth. 

“Why else would you let him stay with us?” he asked, leaning forward slightly to look Momota in the eyes.

“For you, man!” Momota exclaimed. “It was for our manly bond!” 

“Yeah, right,” Akamatsu snorted. “You two are like Naruto and Sasuke. Rivals till the bitter end, eh?” Momota let out a loud snort.

“Outta here with your weeb shit, Akamatsu,” he said, with a slight upturn in his frown

“...” Akamatsu sipped her drink. “We’re Japanese, Momota-kun.”

“What?” Momota narrowed his eyes. Kiibo let out a laugh, and Akamatsu rolled her eyes in response. She waved her hand, as if dismissing Momota and his foolishness. Saihara gave his head a slight shake, then turned his gaze to Kiibo.

“Hey, Kiibo-kun. Ouma-kun wanted us to say hi to you.” Kiibo brightened at Saihara’s words, and he tipped his head to the side.

“He’s so… What’s the word… _Extra_?,” Kiibo said with a sigh. He smiled fondly. “Tell him I said hi back.”

“Geez, you two are like third graders,” Momota muttered. He took a long sip of his own brew- full of sugar. “Chill.” Akamatsu leaned against the couch’s arm.

“Stop being so cynical, Momota-kun. Don’t you remember what it’s like to _be in love_?” she cooed gently, tipping her cup of coffee towards the purple-haired man slightly. Momota shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“You’re implying that I’m not in love,” he said accusingly.

“Whatevs. You and Harukawa-san are like an old married couple, already,” Akamatsu pointed out. Momota pursed his lips.

“You’re implying that old married couples aren’t in love,” Momota shot back. Akamatsu placed her coffee on an end table near the arm of the couch and winked.

“Ya got me there.”

-

“Ouma-kun, we’re back!”

As Saihara and Momota stepped back into their home, Ouma was waiting for them, crouched on the bottom step of the stairwell like a gargoyle. “Welcome home, my sons.”

“Please don’t call me your son,” Saihara mumbled as he handed off the caramel macchiato to Ouma. He sniffed the drink like he was in chemistry class, doing a smell test on a possibly poisonous concoction. Then he took a small sip.

“Why are you treating it so warily?” Momota regarded him incredulously.

“Maybe you’re an assassin who has kept up a careful façade all this time, but this is when you get me, with Saihara-chan as your legal eyewitness.” Ouma watched Momota with scheming eyes from over his beverage. “Who am I kidding? You’d falter immediately. You’re not smart enough to deceive us all.” He shot Momota a grin as he drank his macchiato.

“Every time you speak to me, you just _have_ to throw in an insult, dontcha?” Momota rolled his eyes so hard he probably pulled a muscle. Ouma twirled his straw in his drink.

“It’s just who I am as a person,” he muttered. 

“Change yourself, then!” Momota shouted. Saihara intervened and stood between the two, holding his hands out to their faces.

“Enough bickering, you two,” he sighed. “Or I can and will lock you both out of this house.”

“Horrifying!” Ouma feigned shock. “I’ll shut up now.”

“Good!” Momota sounded relieved.

-

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, or however uneventfully living with Ouma could be characterized as. Saihara did some paperwork on his laptop, while Ouma kept pretty much to himself, surprisingly enough, watching TV and staring deep into the void with a blank stare. Momota ran some errands and popped in and out of the house as he pleased.

As the afternoon dwindled into evening and shades of purple streaked across the sky, Saihara got up off of his chair to make dinner for the housemates. It wasn’t that he was a necessarily great chef, but he did know how to cook a solid meal. And so, he cooked some spaghetti- basil and all.

Everyone was happy with this outcome.

“Hurry up, Saihara-chan! You’re going to miss Jeopardy!”

“I’m almost done,” Saihara called. He swished the J-cloth around the sink, cleaning out any stray bits of food that came off of the dishes he was washing, then wrung out the cloth and hung it on the faucet. He wiped his hands discreetly on his jeans and headed over to the couch, where Ouma peered at him from over the armrest.

“You’re lucky, Saihara-chan, they’re still introducing the contestants,” he said. Saihara plopped down in between Ouma and Momota, as to prevent any unnecessary conflicts. _Knowing them,_ Saihara thought to himself, _they’ll probably be strangling each other on top of my body over the Final Jeopardy._

“Hey, Kaito. There’s a category on space exploration,” Saihara noted. Momota grinned and stroked his goatee, not unlike an evil mastermind would.

“Fantastic,” he said with a chuckle.

“Could I get 400 for six-letter words?” One of the contestants asked the ever omniscient Alex Trebek. The question that popped up was “ _A word for reading through something meticulously._ ”

“Peruse,” Ouma said. Right after he answered, the contestant gave the same word, and was awarded her $400. Ouma stretched his arms over the top of the couch, his hands dangling down the front. “Amateurs,” he muttered under his breath.

Another contestant, clearly on the prowl for the daily double, went for the same category, but for the price of $1000. The question read _‘A word used to describe a humourous style of story popular during the late seventeenth century?’_

“Satire,” Saihara called out. “Too easy for a thousand bucks.” Sure enough, another contestant got that one.

Their time continued in the same fashion, with the three throwing out answers that were either right on the money (quite literally) or completely absurd- in a question regarding the tallest building in the world, Ouma replied with “Momota-chan’s ego.”

“The highest thing I could think of” was his justification. Naturally, this earned him a slap on the arm from Momota.

As the program neared its end, the three contestants were fairly close in their earnings, hovering somewhere around the $10 000 mark. The final jeopardy’s category was the history of dance.

“I’m betting two dollars,” Momota snorted. “I know nothing about dance.”

Ouma, with a childish grin on his face, folded his hands under his chin. “Let’s make it a true daily double, Alex.” He said this with the confidence of an army general leading his men into battle.

“Dude, how much do you know about dance?” Momota inquired. Ouma only shrugged in response.

“I’d bet 2 000. Maybe it’ll be easy,” Saihara offered. Momota gave him a doubtful look.

The question that was plastered across the screen was _‘This man taught King Louis XIV dance and helped create the first type of French Ballet.’_

“No clue,” Momota said with a frown. 

“Uhh…” Now, Ouma had the confidence of an army general leading his men into Passchendaele. “Some French sounding name, probably. Like Jean-Louis?”

Saihara thought privately to himself for a moment. “Hey,” he said slowly. “I think I actually know this one.”

“Oh?” Momota gave a grunt of surprise. “Shoot.”

“His name was Pierre Beauchamp,” Saihara explained. “Ballet is a very precise dance. They wrote out exact angles and everything.”

“Really?” Momota asked. “Who woulda thunk it?”

“Twenty house points to Saihara-chan. He’s usually right about stuff,” Ouma stated as he crossed his fingers and closed his eyes, assuming some sort of prayer position. Saihara rolled his eyes.

“Ah. Don’t expect much… I only took dance in high school,” he murmured sheepishly. Momota put an arm around his neck and pulled him in tightly.

“Best dancer I’ve ever seen, though,” chirped the purple-haired man. Saihara let out a soft wheeze and a chuckle.

“You’re saying that, but Harukawa was in my class.” His eyes shifted to his best friend’s face. “And she was _amazing._ ”

“I have no idea where she learned how to do all of that.” Momota stroked his goatee with his free hand (you know, the one he wasn’t actively strangling Saihara with). “She’s fit, she knows an uncomfortable amount of martial arts techniques, she’s a good dancer… Seriously, when did she have the time?”

“During her childhood, probably,” Saihara murmured softly. His voice picked up a bit as he continued. “Either way, that class was before you guys got together, and I was terrified of her.”

“Suggesting you’re not still scared of her, are we?” Ouma interjected, leaning over Saihara. “Sorry. I felt like I wasn’t being included in the conversation.”

Momota sighed and pushed Ouma’s face away with a grimace, and the shorter boy protested loudly as he slumped back into his seat. Momota’s face angled back towards the screen. “Hey, look Shuichi!” he exclaimed as he thrust a finger at the screen.

As their conversation had been set to the iconic Jeopardy theme, their talking had taken up all of the guessing time allotted for the contestants.

Alex Trebek went to the player with the lowest total first (who was, quite unfairly, a dance instructor), and revealed her answer- the same as Saihara’s.

As Trebek deemed her answer correct and she was awarded $7 000, Momota and Ouma both cheered and whooped loudly. Saihara leaned further back into the couch, shrinking into himself in embarrassment. “Hot damn!” Momota slapped his knee.

“Your useless knowledge came in handy for once, eh, Saihara-chan?” Ouma grinned cheekily. Momota pursed his lips.

“Can it, Purple Boy. You knew the name of the first dictator of Madagascar,” Momota shot back. Ouma shrugged.

“Common knowledge, really,” Ouma said with a wave of his hand. Momota opened his mouth to respond, but Saihara threw his arms up in protest.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen. Enough deliberation,” he cut in, a sarcastic edge to his voice. As Jeopardy faded into the credits and a bout of commercials took over their T.V. screen, he sat up slightly. Momota’s arm fell from his neck, and it felt cold without the presence. He gripped his elbows. “Wanna play video games?”

“Only if you have my favourite, _Sonic All-Stars Racing Transformed_.” Ouma stretched his arms above his head and yawned. Momota and Saihara exchanged a glance.

“Don’t think we do,” Saihara disclosed. Ouma huffed as he curled up into the arm of the couch. 

“Then what’s even the point?” he hummed quietly to himself. Momota stood and brushed off his sweatpants.

“What about Mario Party?” he suggested, heading over to their shelf of games and squinting at the cases in the half-light. Saihara suppressed a shiver at the thought.

“Would really prefer not to spend my Saturday night investigating a homicide,” he said with a sigh. Ouma snickered and watched Momota crouch down and weigh their options for multiplayer games, or games they could easily trade off with. 

“Mario Kart? GTA? Hyrule Warriors? COD? Crash Bandicoot? Fallout? Smash?” He started reading off random titles in the hopes one would stick.

“ _Fortnite_?” Ouma put in. Momota inhaled deeply.

“I bet I could place higher than you,” he challenged.

“Oh yeah?” Ouma bit back. “Fight me, spaceman. I could do better than you any day of the week.”

“Say it to my face!”

“Just did!”

“Let’s keep the YouTube drama to a minimum, please,” Saihara said as he rubbed his temple, a smile on his face in spite of himself.

They eventually settled on Mario Kart, because although the franchise’s party games make you feel like your opponent has pissed on your newborn child and left you for dead, the racing games are more like you’re two old friends on opposite sides of a battlefield. There’s no pseudo-friendship layering on top.

Besides, what better way was there to end a night than make the people who know where you sleep _very angry_ with you?

“Of course you’d be a Bowser main, Momota-chan,” Ouma said, his words teeming with disgust. Momota’s eyebrows knit.

“Builds up good speed; can knock people of the course. What’s not to like?” he inquired. Ouma elbowed him in the arm.

“As obnoxious in game form as you are in real life.” There was a certain wistfulness to his tone as he spoke. Momota pulled at one of the boy’s messy purple locks, and he let out a yelp of pain. Saihara took a deep breath and tentatively placed his hands on the others’ shoulders.

“We’re all friends here.” He said this mostly to reassure himself, and Momota and Ouma dissolved into a fit of giggles. They all picked their characters and started up a Grand Prix.

“I’ll say this to y’all,” Ouma started, a few minutes into the first race. His eyes were trained on the screen, focus contorting his face. “Keebs is real bad at Mario Kart. So I think that my skills may have dumbed down a bit, due to the lack of challenge he proposes.”

“I’ll be sure to share what you’ve said with Kiibo-kun,” Saihara mumbled.

“Oh, he knows. The foundation for all good relationships is honesty,” Ouma hummed as he threw down a banana peel. Momota let out a frustrated growl as he slipped on it.

“That’s rich, coming from you.” He held down on his shoulder trigger. Ouma offered a shrug in response.

The trio continued their game for a while afterwards, shouting at NPCs, but mostly at each other. Momota and Saihara soon became complicit in their belief that Ouma was a dirty liar, because he rocked their asses at every course they played.

“Come on, Ouma!” Momota shouted as Ouma shot a red shell backwards at him, for no real reason other than to be a dick. “No fair!” Ouma smirked smugly.

“What is fair in a game so far removed from rules?” he muttered cryptically as he rounded a corner. Momota grit his teeth, while Saihara was pretty content to hold his tongue and not incite Ouma’s wrath. He was hanging on to a pretty honourable fourth place position, after all.

“Just because you can philosophize about it doesn’t make it okay,” Momota bit back. 

“How profound of you. All is fair in love and Mario Kart,” Ouma crooned, crashing into an item box with Momota in hot pursuit.

“You’re the worst,” Momota replied simply. Saihara tittered slightly, taking his eyes of the screen for a moment to watch his best friend’s brow furrow in rage.

Ouma crossed the finish line, but just before he did he threw a green shell behind him at an angle. It bounced off the walls of the course before it smashed into Momota’s character. Ouma let out a sharp bark of laughter as the man fumed angrily, steam figuratively pouring from his ears.

He got back on his wheels and crossed the finish line in fifth. As he did so, he turned to Ouma. “ _Your dad should’ve jacked you off into a toilet_ ,” he whisper-shouted. Saihara let out an uncharacteristic short.

Ouma’s eyes widened momentarily, looking hurt, before he burst out into laughter. “Oh, Momota-chan, you’re a laugh riot!” he choked out from between his giggles.

Momota was apparently _so funny_ that Ouma ended up toppling onto Saihara’s lap as he gasped for air. Seeing this, even Momota couldn’t keep his stone-faced expression up. His stoic, flat-lipped mouth cracked into a smile, and in spite of himself, he started to laugh. Saihara ended up joining in as well,  
Ouma rolling around on his leg.

Saihara was certain if a passerby looked through their window, they would see three, tired adult children completely out of their minds as their chests and lungs ached for them to catch their breath. 

Ouma rolled over to face upwards, the back of his neck resting on Saihara’s knee. He wiped a tear from a bright purple eye, letting out a hefty sigh as he rested a hand on his stomach.

“Ah, jeez. You guys are great,” he said with a dopey smile on his face. Saihara’s eyebrows knit, and he and Momota shared a perplexed look.

“What?” Saihara asked quietly. Ouma’s eyes flashed, and he shot up into a sitting position.

“O-oops, did I say something genuine?” It was only for a moment, but Ouma stuttered slightly as he spoke. “Uhh… hrm, hrm, Momota-chan sucks, Saihara-chan, you rock, lies, lies, etcetera and etcetera.” He prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Better?”

Saihara frowned. “Ouma-kun, you don’t have to lie to us,” he started.

“We’d prefer if you didn’t, really,” Momota commented. Ouma narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Uh-huh. So you say.” His visage darkened slightly. “Nah, this is easier.” He once again perked back up. “Wanna play another round?”

Momota and Saihara’s eyes met for the umpteenth time that night. “Come on, Ouma-kun. It’s fine if you like spending time with us. It’s not a taboo,” Saihara pointed out. 

“We know you like to be edgy, but you’re stuck with us - _your fault, Shuichi_ \- for a while,” Momota added in. Ouma’s gaze flickered between the pair.

“Without my edginess, I have nothing,” he said, eyes downcast. The way he spoke made it sound like a joke, but Saihara found himself wondering if that was really the case. Ouma let out a soft chuckle.

“It’s not edgy to express human emotions, you know,” Saihara told him. Ouma rolled his eyes and shifted backwards. 

“Thanks, King Emo. I appreciate the advice, but this ain’t therapy,” he said sharply. Momota tensed.

“Hey, Shuichi’s just trying to-” he started, but was quickly cut off by Saihara.

“It’s alright, Kaito,” he said softly. “Ouma-kun.” Ouma crossed his arms and looked away with an exaggerated _humph_. In a flash, Saihara threw his arm around Ouma’s neck and pulled him in close.

“Wh-!” Ouma yelped, possibly in fear, as he was _suction-cupped_ to Saihara side. Saihara wrapped an arm around the troublemaker, who made several noises of disgruntlement and tried to escape from Saihara’s grasp.

“Look, Saihara-chan, I appreciate the offer, but I have a boyfriend.” Disdain dripped from his words.

“What’s the point in hanging out without a nice hug from your friend?” Saihara hummed quietly. Ouma made choking noises, despite the fact that Saihara had an extremely weak grip. 

“You’ve been living with Momota-chan for too long, you’ve picked up his isms,” Ouma growled, huffing. 

“Shuichi, what are you doing?” Momota asked, an incredulous tone seeping through his words. 

“Showing Ouma-kun that sometimes it’s nice to be a human.” Saihara had been told by Akamatsu that he got cuddly when he was tired, so he assumed this was a general byproduct of that. Momota screwed up his face. “Join us, Kaito.”

“Uh, why?” Momota frowned as Saihara beckoned him.

“True bro bonding time.” He knew that would trigger Momota’s manly instincts. Reluctantly, the purple haired man wrapped an arm around Saihara, and by extension, Ouma. Neither of the two looked happy with this.

“Saihara-chan, please let me go,” Ouma begged.

“Admit that you like to hang out with us,” Saihara challenged. Ouma groaned comically, and pressed his face into Saihara’s shoulder in frustration.

“Fine, fine! Saihara-chan, Momota-chan, I appreciate your company.” He made this sound like it was the biggest burden in the world. Saihara released him, and Ouma collapsed against the arm of the couch in relief.

“Exhausting. Can I go back to lying, now?” Ouma asked as he brought an arm to his forehead, like a damsel about to faint. Saihara smiled a lopsided, unsatisfied smile.

“For now,” Saihara allowed him.

-

And though he would tell no one, Ouma slept easier that night.

He also slept in one of Momota’s shirts, which would annoy the man to no end, and their routine started over the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> fuck you i love sonic all stars racing transformed  
> sorry not sorry for that jeopardy section i have to use my obscure  
> knowledge from dance class and english SOMEWHERE  
> but yes here is the garbage i promised! i wrote this mostly as a stress relief fic, since life hasn’t been great. final exams are coming up, isps are due, i’m moving in july, etc and etc. i got this idea a long time ago when jules and i (@keebokuun on tumblr she’s awesome!!) we’re talking about my college au and i joked about kaito and saihara living with ouma. and well, here we are  
> there’s nothing funnier to me than characters referencing real life things. i bet ouma is a fortnite streamer irl  
> this might be my last fic as a fourteen year old! in like, 13 days i upgrade to being fifteen! yippee kayak other buckets!  
> my bad for any mistakes, it’s late as i’m editing and i am typing AT THE SPEED OF SOUND so i can get a decent sleep. i just want  
> to get this bs into the world.  
> i hope you like this silly fic! thanks for reading <33  
> -  
> youtube: Clementine Kitten (i don’t post don’t bother checking  
> it)  
> dr tumblr: sai-haras (i’m active here. art and shitposts await)


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